when you ask my long face
– where to begin,
I don’t know;
Just now? Yesterday?
Nineteen ninety four?
the day I was born?
The sun is burning anyway;
it doesn’t need more pain.
is hardly ever a bargain.
Everything hurts but tomorrow
when you like glossy covers
with pictures that cause a slow gnawing
from the heights of paradise complex.
as often as it wets our hearts
with soft clouds
dipped in orange dyed lagoon sunsets.
And we are left beating
with the fish washed fresh
off the warm waters
at some faraway paradise bay.
Soul-ache is what closes you on an orange Tuesday evening.
The world is weighed down under a mad machine.
People stretched out of proportion, souls malnourished.
Everything shines an obnoxious, toxic orange.
Nauseous and exhausted.
The terror of knowing what this world is about looms in quietly, peacefully in majestic proportions.
My soul aches for me, for everyone.